The walls are vanilla puddingand the silver radiator drops from the ceilinglike some bizarre utensilwith which to eat it.

Outside the open window,the purchased symphony of the city plays.

Nigerian nannies push small whitechildren in rattling strollers.Students at a nearby school laugh and screamand lay the foundations of the edificial lives.The busses and taxis honk and squeal down Broadway.Wind shakes the leafless branches of this city’sconcrete trees.

Somewhere, church bells chimewith the hour—the little choir, a smallreminder of the God who still dwellsin these mechanical places.

And a woman, long out of the limelight,competes with this metropolitan orchestra.She walks up and down vocal scalesas a mezzo-soprano. Her vibrato vibratesthis small, forgotten opera house,